“It was poison—why not?” she answered. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha. Ennison paused by the little gate. I believe—I believe that I must risk it. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda.
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